


Respondez S’il Vous Plait

by centaur



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Presentation Play, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaur/pseuds/centaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk and Dave are invited to a swanky holiday party. They attend, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respondez S’il Vous Plait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meoqie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meoqie/gifts).



> written for [cyansonata](http://cyansonata.tumblr.com/) for the 2014 stridercest secret santa exchange 
> 
> god bless us everybody

The invitation came in a cream colored envelope, sealed with a gold foil sticker shaped like a rose. The address was written in tight, perfect cursive with a purple pen. Dave opened it like it was going to catch fire at any moment. “She actually wrote out RSVP, with the damn circumflex and everything,” he had said, scanning the tastefully embossed card with increasing agitation. “Christ, she called it a fête too. It’s time to put an end to this; it’s out of control. She’s out of control. We are not replying to her and we are definitely not going.”

“We don’t have a choice, Dave. She said please,” Dirk replied, moving to pluck the invitation from Dave’s hands and encountering zero resistance. His brother’s words were empty; Dave loved these parties and would honestly be disappointed if they weren’t out of control. Not going was out of the question, but Dave always tried to make it seem like he wasn’t totally committed to attending for Dirk’s sake. Dirk just wasn’t the swanky holiday party type.

Rose’s parties were a tradition though. Each year an envelope came to Dirk and Dave’s apartment and each year they were either guilted or beguiled into attending with a large quantity of grain liquor in tow. At first the parties had been relaxed, intimate gatherings of their tolerable friends, with gift exchanging, party games, and inebriation. Now, only the rampant drunkenness remained. Drinking was one of the only ways to survive the events, which had become increasingly fancy as Rose attempted to outdo her last party and one-up all of the famous people that ran in her 300-million-copies-sold-wizard-fiction-author circle.

Dave ran in that circle too, with his multi-billion dollar movie franchise. Dirk did not run in any circles; he ran code and typically didn’t interact with anyone from Dave and Rose’s circle unless he absolutely had to. But he didn’t hate the parties; it was always interesting to watch Dave and Rose in their element, oiling up their personal hype machines. At one party, they smoked a tremendous amount of weed and attempted a live marathon reading of all five _SBaHJ Save Chrismass: The Moveis_ with the entire cast. Last Christmas, Dave got spectacularly drunk and did a pretty impressive impromptu cabaret song and dance routine that ended with him nearly naked and standing on the hors d’oeurves table with a mouth full of Vienna sausages and a finger curled beckoningly towards Dirk.

Dirk could handle swanky holiday parties if they ended up like that. In fact, he was almost looking forward to this year.

\----------

As long as Dirk might take in the shower, he never dawdles even half as much as his brother when getting ready for these parties. Putting on a tux is not rocket science; once his bowtie is tied, his pocket square is folded, and his hair is appropriately spiked, he's good to go. But there’s something about Rose’s parties that turns Dave into an obsessive mess, which is a little frustrating when the time is ticking by and the window for fashionably late is fast approaching. Rose is prickly during the holidays and Dirk isn’t sure he can handle another year being gifted as many time-telling devices as they are minutes late to the party.

After adjusting his bowtie for the fifth time while waiting for Dave to appear, Dirk decides that some prodding might be necessary if they are actually going to arrive at Rose’s holiday fête while it is still happening. He enters the bedroom hoping to encounter a mostly dressed Dave rushing to put his shoes on.

Dave is rushing to put his shoes on, but they aren’t the leather dress shoes Dirk is expecting—they’re stiletto heels. And he _is_ mostly dressed, but not in a tux.

Dave balances on one foot while he rests the other on the bed and unbuckles the ankle straps of a shoe. The shoes are ultra shiny, candy apple red leather; straps upon straps on tiny stilts of heels. The gown—it’s definitely a gown—is black as ink, so dark and matte that sucks up light like a sponge. Dave’s unshaven leg is exposed to his knee, popped out of a gaping slit in the front. The design is elegant, though nothing extravagant: no frills, just a wide neckline with bow-tied sleeves perched on the edges of his shoulders, cinched in at his waist but flowing loosely over his hips and down his legs to puddle around his currently bare foot.

“If I had known you were going all out, I would have suggested you start sooner,” Dirk says flatly, announcing his presence. "Christ, Dave."

Dave looks up, startled. Dirk makes a sweeping motion in the dress’ direction and looks expectantly over his glasses and Dave seems to suddenly realize what he is wearing. The penny, along with the shoe, drops as the spike heel cradled in his hands tumbles to the floor.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Dave grumbles, delicately bending over to pick up his fallen comrade. One of the bow sleeves falls down his shoulder and Dave impatiently brushes it back in place when he stands up again. “Get out, I’m not ready.”

“Clearly. Can I get an estimate of when you think you will be?” Dirk taps his wrist like he’s tapping a watch. He doesn’t actually wear watches because his glasses tell him the time, but maybe he should have considered one as an accessory to emphasize how many passive aggressive gifts Rose is going to give them if they don’t leave shortly.

“When I’m done,” Dave says sharply, picking at the shoe buckle in irritation. His face is reading supremely annoyed and a little bit disappointed, but Dirk isn’t sure why he would be the latter until he opens his mouth again. “You just ruined one of your Christmas presents, jackass. Congrats. Didn’t even let me finish wrapping it.”

“Ah,” Dirk says. He tries to make his tone sympathetic, but he doesn’t really feel bad. Dave getting dressed up is significantly more fun for Dave than it is for him, though Dirk does appreciate the finished product. For Dirk, the unwrapping part is a lot more enjoyable and _partaking_ of the gift is best of all. He glances with interest at the hollow of Dave’s throat and the peaks of his pectorals over the crisp line of black fabric. He can't afford to set their departure time back even more by undoing all of Dave's hard work, but he's not going to let this present slip by him either.

“Do you need any help?” It’s a loaded question and the way Dave’s head whips around and his eyes narrow suspiciously is a clear sign he understands that Dirk’s intentions are likely less than helpful.

“The party starts at 7,” Dave states, not actually deigning to answer until he has a better grasp on the playing field. It’s his usual tactic, though not a very effective one.

“I'm aware. That’s why I offered to help.” Dirk’s tone is innocuous, his face passively blank. “We’re basically guaranteed to be offensively late if you don’t speed up this production a little.”

Dave’s eyes bore into Dirk’s face, trying to look behind the pointy shades to see what the catch is, and Dirk stares back serenely.

“Help me with my shoes,” Dave finally allows, tossing the heel at Dirk, who snatches it out of the air and uses the toe to point at the bed.

“You want to sit?” he asks politely, stalking a little closer in a manner that is in no way threatening.

The suspicion in Dave’s stare intensifies as he looks at the bed then back at Dirk, still approaching. “Nah, I'm good. I’ll stand.”

With a nod and a reasonably graceful thud, Dirk suddenly drops to his knees in front of his brother. Sensing that nothing good can come of this, Dave balks immediately and tries to flashstep away, but Dirk locks his hands around Dave’s ankle and keeps him firmly in place like a ball and chain. A pitiful and quiet ‘oh fuck’ escapes Dave and Dirk tries not to grin too wide when he looks up at Dave's face. “You sure you don’t want to sit? Last chance.”

Dave subtly tests the strength of Dirk's grip and finds his foot securely planted to the floor. “C’mon, Dirk," he tries reasoning instead, a little desperately. "Rose is going to be absolutely shitting bricks if we don’t leave asap. I know you don't give a fuck about these parties but this year she'll probably force us build her a second mansion with all of the bricks she’s shat if we’re late yet again and I can't handle that kind of hard physical labor. I will die and you'll have to pave my corpse into the walls. Merry fucking Christmas, bro.”

Dirk rolls his eyes, unswayed. “It’s definitely not my fault that you took so damn long to put on a dress, Dave. Stand still.”

Without loosening his grip, he lifts up Dave’s ankle and slips the heel on his foot, deftly buckling him in. It takes a moment for Dave to readjust his balance on the single pointy stiletto, but Dirk lets him put a hand on his shoulder to steady himself until he’s stable. Then he grabs the other ankle and puts the second shoe on.

“Great, thanks,” Dave says as soon as the heel is buckled, trying to make another attempt at escape, but Dirk still has a solid hold on his foot and his smile has only gotten more dangerous. Glancing up at Dave like a cat with a canary, Dirk can see the muscles in his brother’s throat working as he swallows hard, and then he can’t see Dave at all because he is lifting the skirt of the gown over his head and kissing up Dave’s leg in pitch blackness.

The dress’ amazing black hole-like powers seem to extend to the interior of the fabric—not a problem because this is familiar territory and Dirk knows his way by feel—and the weight of it muffles the sound of Dave’s protests—always a positive. Dave is definitely swearing at him, probably slinging all sorts of crass insults, but the noises abruptly stop when Dirk slides down Dave’s underwear and wraps his lips around the tip of Dave’s cock. Dave is not quite hard when Dirk enthusiastically shoves his nose into a wiry patch of pubes and starts hollowing his cheeks, but it doesn’t take even a minute for Dirk to start hearing stifled groans.

It can’t look very elegant from Dave’s perspective. There is a huge lump bobbing under his gown and making loud and wet suction noises, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Dirk can feel Dave’s palms pressing lightly on him from outside of the dress, trying to either guide or encourage him with limited success since there’s a silky, thick cloth barrier between them and Dave can’t see what the hell is happening. But that is honestly one of the best parts of this blowjob—Dave is essentially powerless and Dirk is the man behind the curtain, which appeals to him in ways that he doesn’t really need to evaluate.

In the darkness, with his eyes effectively useless, Dirk is much more in tune with his other senses. He catches every subtle little hitch of Dave’s chest and the shuddery, breathy moans that mean he is getting close. The temperature seems to be continuously increasing, heat pouring off of Dave's skin and from Dirk's nose as he puffs out air each time he slides down on Dave's cock. Dave’s pulse pounds against his tongue when he rubs it along the shaft and his leg muscles quiver under Dirk’s fingertips. The only verbal warning Dirk gets is garbled by the silk, but it sounds like a string of curses prefaced by his name. Dirk swallows, milking Dave for everything he’s got and managing to keep both of their outfits immaculate in the process.

When Dirk slips Dave out of his mouth, Dave buckles towards the wall to recuperate and is audibly irritated when Dirk doesn’t leave the confines of the dress post haste. Hands swat at Dirk's shoulders through the slit. “What are you doing?”

“Appreciating my gift,” Dirk replies, blowing on Dave's softening cock to dry the spit before pulling his briefs over it and kissing the insides of his thighs.

“Ok," Dave grunts at each kiss. "Ok, that's cool and all, and fine I guess, I just hope you’re also prepared to appreciate 45 assorted grandfather clocks that play Christmas music at every quarter interval.”

With a dismissive hum, Dirk curls his hands around Dave’s outer legs, gently squeezing them inward. Dave gets the idea and clenches his thighs together, powering through the wobbliness of post-coitus and the difficulty of balancing on the stilettos. Dirk’s tongue slides through Dave’s closed thighs, slicking the seam of skin with long licks. Above him, Dave shudders, spent from his orgasm but also hypersensitive because of it. His mostly flaccid dick gives a truly pathetic twitch and then gives up entirely. Dirk doesn’t make him suffer for too long, standing up once Dave is suitably glistening and turning him around to face the wall.

When Dirk fishes his cock out of his pants, the head brushes lightly against the smooth, cool fabric of Dave’s dress. It feels amazing and he has half a mind to wrap his entire dick in it and turn this into the black-tie version of jacking off into a sock, but Dave hikes the hem up a little higher and the smooth curve connecting the top of his thigh and the swell of his brief-clad ass comes into full view and the original plan is reaffirmed. Dave gathers the dress around his waist in gentle folds so as not to wrinkle it. Dirk keeps one hand on Dave’s hip to hold him steady and guides his dick up and down the backs of Dave’s thighs with the other, smearing saliva and pre all across his skin. “Better keep the dress up if you don’t want it getting stained.”

“Obviously,” Dave mutters, anxious tension tightening his exposed shoulders. Dirk gives them both a kiss and then slides his cock between Dave’s wet thighs.

It’s not the same as penetrative sex but it’s still tight and slippery and warm. He doesn’t need a lot of stimulation to push him over anyway, because the blowjob got him plenty warmed up. As if Dave can sense that this isn’t going to go on very long, he begins beseeching Dirk to spare his outfit almost immediately.

“Not on the dress, not the dress. Have mercy, Dirk, it’s silk,” comes Dave’s muffled plea, his cheek squished against the wall to support his jolting body since his hands are occupied with keeping his dress as far away from Dirk’s dick as he can. His chin taps out a soft _thunk thunk thunk_ with every thrust, steady as a metronome. Dirk picks the tempo up to double-time to bring himself to the edge of his climax.

“I’m willing to take suggestions,” Dirk murmurs while reaching around Dave and rubbing the silky dress between his fingers anticipatorily, much to Dave’s extreme alarm.

“Literally _anywhere_ else,” he begs, legs trembling and chin still knocking against the wall. Breaking the rhythm, Dirk snaps his hips sharply and Dave produces a high-pitched whine of concern from the back of his throat, even while he squeezes his thighs even tighter around Dirk. “Jesus christ, why couldn’t you have just fucked my ass proper, you goddamn deviant?”

Dirk lets out a laugh that is more breath than noise and lays rough but affectionate open-mouthed kisses down the back Dave’s neck and along the collar of the dress. He pulls the pocket square out of his tux and his dick out from between Dave’s legs and blows his load safely away from the dress. He almost can't believe how nice he is being, but it is Christmas after all.

The moan of relief Dave makes when he glances behind him and finds that Dirk spared his outfit almost makes up for the ruined pocket square. With a gusty sigh, he slumps exhaustedly against the wall and lets his gown fall back to the floor. “What time is it?” he asks.

Dirk checks his shades. “7:28.”

“Fuck. Rose is going to destroy me. I was on a tight schedule; she was expecting me to be completely plastered and serenading the guests by 8.”

Dirk raises an eyebrow as he finishes cleaning himself up. He’ll have to go find a new pocket square, but he thinks maybe he’ll wear a red one to match Dave’s shoes. “Does she really want a repeat of last years’ _Santa Baby_ incident?”

“No.” Dave watches cautiously until Dirk has thrown the pocket square in the hamper, then sidles over and wraps his arms around Dirk’s neck, putting most of his weight on him. His legs are clearly still shaky. “She made sure to leave that off the holiday soundtrack this year. _Santa Baby_ is, I quote, ‘officially forbidden when you and your brother are in mixed company.’”

“I’m not surprised, but I am disappointed,” says Dirk, supporting Dave’s waist with an arm. “That was the highlight of my evening last year.”

Dave leans in, lips puckered, his heels putting him at a height with Dirk to kiss his cheek sloppily. “Well, we won’t be in mixed company forever,” he purrs in Dirk’s ear in the exact voice he used last year to sing _Santa Baby_. “And I know some other songs.”

Dirk generally isn’t into swanky holiday parties, but as he turns his head to catch Dave's mouth and kiss him, he decides he is definitely looking forward to what might happen at Rose’s this year.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to my partner in hell [witchofspaz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/witchofspaz/) for being so cute and pedantic


End file.
